The view outside the County Ground on matchday.
Photograph: Steve Paston/PA

On a Tuesday night last October, I realised I was no longer in love with my football club, Swindon Town. As is the case with most break-ups, this was a slow-burner, a pot of problems which may never have come to the boil had I chosen to work anywhere but my home town. I was fulfilling my journalistic duties and doing what I was paid to do but, as a result, I got too close.

I don’t mean in a sentimental way – the irrational sense of loyalty that compels you to drive to Carlisle on a whim to spend your final £20 on a 3-0 defeat. The problem was that I gained an understanding of the inner workings of a football club, of small-time sporting politics and its backstabbing, ignorance and spin.

It wasn’t always like that. My dad took me to my first match in 1995 – an FA Cup clash with Marlow – and I quickly developed an insatiable curiosity, which soon turned into an infatuation. Every Christmas I wanted the new kit; I was a mascot twice; I’d rerun Saturday’s goals on a Sunday morning in my parents’ living room; and my cupboards were filled with programmes and mementos. That honeymoon feeling persisted through my teenage years, whatever state the club found itself in, and continued into my working life when I arrived at the Swindon Advertiser in 2009.

Today, I can’t motivate myself to smile or sulk as the final scores roll in. On that night in October, I struggled with the concept. I had discovered apathy for my team for the first time. Swindon lost to Oldham Athletic and, as I looked out on the County Ground’s floodlights from my study window, I reflected on the result with a shrug.

The process began in early 2013, following the takeover of the club. In the three years since, the boardroom has been dominated by hearsay, scandal, infighting and uncertainty. For months, embedded reporters had to handpick reality from make-believe on a daily basis. Many of us were fans and I felt envious of those who were not. Two warring owners threw loose accusations at one another with increasing regularity. Some allegations were made public and supporters had to watch their club tugged around like a scraggy rope in the High Court. My job was to watch the entire episode through a microscope, poring over the tiny details.

Occasionally, I’d remember the glory days of Kevin Horlock, Wayne Allison and the Division Two-winning campaign of 1995-96 which got me hooked, but slowly I found those memories being replaced by paragraphs of legal jargon. Great chunks of the 2003-04 play-off campaign went missing because room needed to be made for the examination of contradictory statements. I have all but forgotten the League Two promotion under Paul Sturrock.

Had it been another industry or even another team in the Football League, it would have been fascinating. The stories at hand were the kind that journalists delight in – the intrigue, the dirt, the mystery – but this was my club. I wanted to look on it with childish enthusiasm and to be in the away end at Elland Road, jumping into a stranger’s arms as Charlie Austin scored the third goal in a 3-0 win. Instead, I was fielding questions about the insolvency history of Swindon’s majority shareholder.

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The County Ground had retained its magical allure for almost two decades but now the stroll to the stadium was just a walk to work. The potholes around the dilapidated car park were deeper and wider, the barbed wire atop two corners of the ground – once unnoticeable – jagged violently into the sky. All I saw were flaws. I had become a cynic.

I miss having to restrain my emotions in the press box when Swindon score; recently they recovered from 3-1 down to beat Crewe 4-3 and I caught myself groaning about the resultant 91st-minute rewrite. I no longer walk into the concourse and feel at home; I’ve been banned, ostracised and accused of lying on multiple occasions by the current owner and now play the role of “unwanted guest number one” on matchdays.

I hate that Swindon went to Wembley last May for a play-off final, lost 4-0 and three days later I was over the experience. One day Swindon and I might give it another try. If we do, I may need to spend a little less time at work.